War of Independence
by Aussiegirl41
Summary: A/U: Laura and Bill meet in another time and another place. Just how different will their relationship be? I don't want to give too much away, but just a tiny warning that this fic will become very angsty at times.
1. Chapter 1

**June 2001**

Laura remembered what the real estate agent had told her when she bought her vacation duplex. _'The owner of the other side is in the Navy. He's at sea for most of the year. You'll be lucky to see or hear him when you're in residence.'_

The owner of the other side was definitely not at sea now. She might not be able to see him, but she could most definitely hear him.

Laura rolled over and checked the time; just after six. She hadn't left last night's party until nearly one in the morning, finally crawling into bed some time around two.

She did not function on barely four hours' sleep.

Just as she was thinking about bashing on the wall, the noise stopped. Thanking God, she snuggled back down beneath the covers.

_Thump!_

No, no, no, Laura thought. He'd started again! She squeezed her eyes open to check the time once more: 6:30 am. He'd left her in peace for twenty minutes.

She groaned and pulled a pillow over her head. The noise, though muffled now, continued. It matched the pounding of her head somewhat, she thought without mirth. What was he doing?...

Laura threw back the covers and tumbled out of bed, dragging on her bathrobe. She stomped down the stairs to the kitchen and, once there, snapped on the coffee maker and listened intently.

He wasn't hammering. The sound was more like a muted slapping. It reminded her of the time she went on a road trip to Los Angeles over spring break. Sally Merchant had lost her virginity to Danny Watson in the room next to her. The thin walls had not muffled their efforts at all; the headboard thumping against their shared wall suggested that Danny needed to practice his rhythm. She had never been able to look at them the same way again. Was her neighbor…?

_'In the navy? I'm not sure I want to live next door to some sailor who celebrates being back on dry land with parties and booze and some woman he's paid. Or with one that shows him a good time just because he's wearing a uniform .'_ The real estate agent had laughed and shaken her head vigorously. _'No, no. Captain Adama is definitely not the parties and fast women type. He's an old man!'_

Laura poured her coffee, glancing at the clock above the stove. If he was having sex, he had great stamina for an old man. He'd now been going at it for another fifteen minutes.

Sipping her coffee, Laura opened the front door to retrieve the newspaper she'd arranged to have delivered. She only found an empty porch.

She stepped out onto the landing and peered around the front garden, crouching down to check beneath the trees' branches. She righted herself and automatically glanced across the small fence that bisected the duplex. There was a newspaper sitting on Captain Adama's porch.

There was the possibility that he also had arranged for the newspaper to be delivered.

Laura scanned the front garden again until she was positive there was no other newspaper. The agent could have gotten the dates wrong for her subscription - or perhaps the address was wrong, and the one on his porch was hers.

She bit her lip, then resolutely strode across the grass, still cold with the morning dew. She stepped over the ridiculous little fence that wouldn't even keep a Chihuahua enclosed, and climbed the one step to stand on his porch which mirrored hers.

She heard the tapping again. At least she knew he was awake, and wasn't going to be roused out of bed by his nosy neighbor.

She pressed purposefully on the doorbell.

The tapping stopped. She resisted the urge to lean over and place her ear against the door. Finally, just as she was going to give the bell another press for luck, the door swung open to reveal her neighbor.

"Oh!" She involuntarily gasped and took a step back when she took in his appearance.

Captain Adama stood in the entrance using his teeth to un-strap a set of boxing gloves. He was wearing a faded gray t-shirt with _Eisenhower_ printed across the front of it. The arms of his shirt were cut off, turning it into a tank top. Her gaze lingered on a droplet of sweat slowly rolling off one glistening shoulder.

"Captain Adama?" she said uncertainly. The real estate agent had said Adama was an old man. But she wouldn't describe the man in the doorway as old; mid- to late-forties at most, she guessed.

He peered out at her through the screen.

Removing one of the gloves completely, he opened the screen door and stepped out to join her on the landing.

He'd been working out; the thumping noise had been him sparring with a boxing bag - obviously. She could smell his exertion: sweat, some kind of menthol rub, a woodsy-scented antiperspirant, man. _What?_ _How does one smell of man, Laura_, she berated herself.

"Ms Roslin?"

His eyes, an unusually bright blue, wandered down the length of her body. She followed their path, realizing for the first time that all she had underneath her lilac silken robe was a pair of panties.

"What can I do for you?"

She resisted the urge to pull the belt of her robe tight, and instead pointed to the rolled up object on the ground. "Is this your paper?"

"Excuse me?"

"This newspaper. Do you have one delivered?"

"What day is it?" he asked.

Laura frowned, starting to lose her patience.

"Sunday," he said, answering his own question. "Nope. I only get Saturday's delivered."

She picked up the paper, clutching it to her chest like it was some priceless treasure. Turning abruptly, she started to stride off to her half of the property.

At the small fence, she paused and marched back to where he still stood on the landing.

"It's early."

Laura watched him lean back, craning his neck to see the clock hanging on the wall inside his house; she couldn't help noticing the way his muscles flexed when he moved. "It's just about 0-700 hours," he said with a frown.

"Seven—" she broke off with an irritated shake of her head.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, it's almost seven o'clock in the morning. And I don't say 0-700 hours because I'm not in the army. And as I'm not in the army, I'm not used to waking up at ridiculous hours of the morning. I had a late night last night, and I'd looked forward to sleeping in. Instead I woke up to you—" she broke off, her hand gesturing ineffectually as she struggled to calm her rising temper, "— woke up to you pounding on some innocent bag."

"Pounding on some innocent bag?" he repeated, making her realize just how silly her choice of words had been. "And I'm not in the army either; it's the navy."

Laura's mouth twisted. "Army, navy; similar wake-up times, I would think."

"Probably," he conceded.

Her hands found her hips. "Same thing then."

"Telling me the army is the same as the navy is like telling a Brown student she's the same as a Harvard one."

She frowned. "That's a strange analogy, Mr Adama."

"Not really." He shrugged. "I just chose something I thought you'd understand."

"Why would you think I'd understand that one? How did you know I went to Brown?"

"I didn't. You just look like you went to some Ivy League college."

"How on earth would you get that impression?" She wasn't dressed, and she hadn't bothered to run a comb through her hair before leaving the house. She had made a halfhearted effort to remove her makeup before going to bed, but she would probably find traces of mascara smudged here and there if she checked her reflection in the mirror.

"I got that impression last night, when I saw you at the Adar party."

Laura glanced up at him, startled. "You were there?"

"Yeah."

She looked him over again. His eyes, the impressive breadth of his chest, the dusky shadow of growth grazing his chin, his dark thick hair that never had one streak of gray showing at all; she would have remembered seeing him last night.

His voice too, was very distinctive. She definitely would have remembered if she'd spoken with him, unless the husky tone of his voice this morning was caused by exercise.

"I don't recall seeing you."

"I stood at the bar; had a couple of drinks on Adar. Then slipped out the back door before all the back-slapping made me ill."

She hadn't been allowed that luxury. Richard had made his demands very clear: _"No wallflower act, Laura."_

She raised an eyebrow. "If you dislike Richard so much, why were you at his party?"

"I've lived in this town off and on for fifteen years. People know me." He shrugged. "I get invited to things. Richard Adar's arrival has sparked interest with the locals, and the tourist organizations are all in a flutter over someone they're trying to sell as a hero."

"He is a hero," Laura injected.

"Depends on your definition of hero."

"He'll most likely be the next President of the United States. That makes him a hero in my eyes."

"Getting elected is the easy part. Doing something worthwhile with that power is a lot more difficult."

"You like Ike?" she asked, pointing to his t-shirt.

He looked down, and then grinned. "_USS Dwight D Eisenhower_. The name of my ship. An aircraft carrier." He looked back up at her, studying her profile thoughtfully for a moment. "How long are you in town?"

She blinked at his sudden change of topic. "Excuse me?"

"This is your vacation, right? How long do I have to creep around the house so as not to interrupt your beauty sleep?"

Laura bit her bottom lip. "I'm here for another three weeks."

"Three weeks. Okay."

Resisting the urge to use the newspaper as a weapon, she swung around and flounced back to her own house, taking extra care when negotiating the small fence.


	2. Chapter 2

Laura lay on the blanket, staring up at the stars; away from where the main crowd was enjoying the town's Fourth of July festivities. She could still hear the music, and listened as the jazz band announced they were taking a break. She smiled when a swing band immediately replaced them.

"Champagne!"

Her peace was shattered. Her fingers were prized apart, and a glass placed between them.

"To what shall we toast?" Cheryl asked, pouring some bubbly beverage into the glass as Laura balanced it strategically on her belly.

"Being together," Sandra said, flopping down next to Laura. "Did you know this is the first Fourth of July we've spent together since I was twelve?"

"What? That can't be true, can it?" Laura instantly denied it, shocked.

"It is! But now that you have the vacation house, I think this needs to be a regular thing."

"Sounds good to me. Every year, no matter what we're doing or where we're living, we'll spend the Fourth of July together."

"Yes, let's make it here," Laura agreed. "I can't imagine anything nicer than watching the stars, listening to music, and sipping champagne right here, by the waterfront, with my two favorite sisters."

"How many other sisters do you have?" Sandra asked with a laugh. "Here sounds wonderful. But next year I'll be bringing someone else."

"What?" Cheryl whined. "No! No boyfriends."

"It might be a boy. Or a girl. I'll be happy either way."

"You're pregnant!" Laura and Cheryl squealed in unison.

Laura struggled to keep the champagne from spilling as they hugged and congratulated Sandra.

"What's James think?"

A shadow passed across Sandra's face. "He's not ready to be a father and a husband yet."

Her sisters exchanged a look of disgust. Sandra whimpered, "Please, don't hate him. He really is trying."

"I'm sure." Laura couldn't keep the sarcasm out of her reply.

"I've talked to Dad. I'm going home to stay with him for a while. And, of course, that means I'll be close to Laura, too."

"So, it's only Cheryl we need to lure back to Washington." Laura elbowed her younger sister in the ribs.

"Not all of us are as politically minded as you, Laura."

"Now that I've made my confession," Sandra said, "I'm off to get some more food. I'm starving."

They all laughed, but Laura couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice once Sandra was out of earshot. "I hope James Richardson doesn't have the misfortune to run into me over the next few months."

"God forbid." Cheryl linked her fingers with Laura's. "Thank goodness you're on our side. I wouldn't want Laura Roslin as an enemy." She shot her sister a sly look. "Now, what about your love life? Any man on the horizon?"

Laura snorted. "I've given up. Spinster for life."

"You're too young to be a spinster."

"Forty? I'm getting into spinster territory. How's Bryce?" Laura asked, attempting to turn the conversation away from herself.

"Bryce who?" Cheryl said breezily. "Speaking of men, look." Cheryl pointed out a group of dignitaries assembling on one side of the stage. "There's your scrumptious Captain."

Laura wasn't sure she'd describe her neighbor as scrumptious, but he definitely stood out in the crowd. Captain Adama was wearing his navy uniform; the pristine white outfit accentuated his muscular frame and dark skin.

"He's not my anything. I've only talked to him once."

Laura had, however, seen Captain Adama another three times since their episode on the porch. They'd been casual encounters that didn't require them to speak. One morning, they passed each other in the grocery store. She did her best not to crane her neck to check out the contents of his basket.

A few nights later, she went out to dinner with Wally. Laura had instantly recognized the Captain at a table in the far corner. She did her best not to crane her neck to check out the blonde who accompanied him. Then, just last Friday night, when Cheryl and Sandra had arrived, she'd ordered pizza. As she paid the delivery boy, Captain Adama was putting out the trash. She did her best not to crane her neck to check if there was any evidence the blonde was still around.

"I didn't know you two had met," Laura said.

"He and I had a coffee together," Cheryl admitted. "He really has a beautiful house, you know. You should go over and get some ideas for decorating your side."

A nerve on Laura's cheek twitched. "You had coffee at his house?" Cheryl had only been in town for three days.

"Yes, he's charming." Cheryl stood up and waved in an effort to gain the Captain's attention.

Laura frowned. The thought of her little sister finding Captain Adama _charming_ and _scrumptious_ made her feel ill. "He's a little old for you, don't you think?"

"He's 53. I asked him. So, that's only a 24-year gap."

"Only! Cheryl, are you out of you mind?" Laura searched around for her drink.

"All that experience," Cheryl purred. "It's rare to find someone his age who isn't gay or married. Or afraid of the age difference."

"Afraid of… Wait, he's not married? Thank goodness for small mercies."

"He's been divorced for over a decade," Cheryl went on, seemingly oblivious to Laura's sarcasm. "Another advantage. Newly divorced men are an emotional mess I'm not prepared to deal with."

Laura shook her head in disbelief. "Should I ask how you know so much about these things?"

"That's easy. I _date_. My main relationship in my life isn't my job, unlike _you_, big sister."

"I date!" Laura protested.

"Oh, _sure_. When was your last date, Laura?"

"I went out to dinner just over a week ago. With Wallace Gray."

Cheryl snorted, sounding remarkably like her elder sister. "That doesn't count! That's_ work_!"

Laura gulped her champagne. "How do you know?"

"I know. When was the last time you had sex?"

"Cheryl! I'm not answering that."

"Weeks? Months? Years?"

"Hello."

Laura spluttered into her champagne when she heard a distinctive raspy voice greeting them.

Cheryl jumped up and enveloped Captain Adama in an embrace, despite the fact they had to be of very short acquaintance.

"Bill!" Cheryl stepped back to squeeze his arm. "It's so lovely to see you again."

Bill? His name was Bill? Laura was saved from further embarrassing herself by blustering about Cheryl and Bill's familiarity when Sandra returned with a seemingly bottomless bag of food.

Laura's exasperation only increased once Bill Adama was introduced to her other sister. Bill and Sandra started chattering happily about babies, pregnancy, even the amount she was eating. Then, even more exasperating, he started to give her advice. He was a father of two, apparently, and as such, he had vast knowledge: everything from the amount of coffee she could safely drink to cures for heartburn.

"Close your mouth, dear, it's very unattractive," Cheryl whispered in her ear.

Laura was helping herself to another gulp of champagne when another masculine voice addressed her. She turned toward a tall, slim man with thinning hair.

"Wally." Laura got up and leaned toward Wally's cheek, kissing the air somewhere in its vicinity.

"I thought you were returning to Washington," Laura said.

"Not until Friday." Wally turned to Cheryl. "Ms Roslin. It's nice to see you again."

"Mr Gray," Cheryl greeted him coolly.

Laura frowned. Cheryl and Wally had met through her a few times. Cheryl was the queen of every party. She was the bubbly one, always turning up the music and ensuring that every glass was full. Wally was the 'slow and steady wins the race' type; the thorough plodder who never came out of his shell with anyone until he'd known them for a long time.

Cheryl and Wally were complete opposites. It didn't surprise her that they didn't hit it off.

Wally reached out and shook Bill Adama's hand. She couldn't help but compare the two men as they stood side by side. Even though Wally was much taller, Adama clearly had the dominant aura. Laura noticed a faint expression of disapproval cross Captain Adama's face, aimed directly at Wally. It confused her.

"Oh!" Sandra exclaimed. "There's your song, Laura."

Laura swayed where she stood, instantly relaxed. "It is."

"_Fly Me to the Moon_ has been Laura's favorite forever," Sandra explained to the non-family members.

Bill Adama's hand grasped her elbow. He gestured toward the space set aside for dancing. "Shall we?"

Laura giggled, tossing her empty champagne glass down onto the blanket. She let him lead her to the small cordoned-off area.

It was getting late in the evening. On the dance floor, several couples were entwined; some not exactly in a virtuous manner.

Laura felt herself blush, but she quickly forgot all about the other dancers when she felt Captain Adama's arms wrap around her. He held her firmly, twirling and dipping her along to the familiar tune. Her feet felt light as she swayed to the beat; she tried to ignore the shiver of delight that thrummed through her body as she threaded her legs in and around his.

Neither of them suggested sitting it out when the next song, with a slower tempo, began to play. Instead, their arms crept more tightly around each other. Laura leaned her head against his chest, feeling his breath whispering across her cheek occasionally.

"You have lovely sisters."

"Thank you. Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

His step faltered for a fleeting moment. "They died before I was born."

"I'm sorry," she murmured, automatically rubbing his back with empathy.

"You're leaving tomorrow?"

She looked up at him, surprised.

"Three weeks are up?" he asked.

She nodded, disconcerted that, for once, she wasn't eager to return to work. "Yes, they are. Fireworks tonight, reality tomorrow." She arched an eyebrow. "You're eager to start boxing at the crack of dawn again?"

He just gave her a half-smile.

"And you're on duty again?" she asked. He gave her a questioning look. "Your uniform," she tried to explain.

"Oh. No, just protocol for tonight. My sons are arriving later on. They'll be here for the next few days. In fact," he paused, checking his watch, "I'll need to leave soon to pick them up. Cheryl's leaving tomorrow, too?"

She stiffened in his arms. "Yes. We're all driving back to Washington together."

"Shame."

"You wanted to introduce Cheryl to your kids?" she asked flippantly.

He surprised her by chuckling. "No, no. Just thought that she and Gray might have done with a little more time together. He obviously needs a good swift kick if he can't see what a prize she is."

Laura pulled back to study his face, astonished.

"Cheryl and_ Wally_?"

"It's pretty obvious."

"Not to me! You must be mistaken."

"I don't think so. She told me about some older guy breaking her heart. As soon as I saw the way they looked at each other tonight, I figured he was the one."

"But Wally's my colleague. My friend. He and Cheryl aren't—"

He suddenly stopped dancing.

"He came on to you as well?" His voice was low, menacing.

"No, no," she assured him. She put her arms around him again, urging him to keep moving. "Wally has only ever been my friend. Nothing more. And I just can't see him being anything more to Cheryl, either. They're such opposites."

"Haven't you heard, Ms Roslin? Opposites attract."

She grinned against his chest.

"You seemed to have learned a lot about my family in a short time, Mr Adama."

He chuckled. "I haven't learned the most important thing."

She looked up at him again, shaking her head.

He leaned down and breathed his question into her ear. "Has it been weeks, months or years?"

"I don't think that's any of your business, Mr Adama," she snapped.

"You should tell Cheryl months, even if it's a lie."

She flashed him an irritated look.

"Weeks makes you sound cheap, which I'm positive you're not. Years makes you sound sad and unwanted, which I'm equally positive you're not."

"I think you have altogether too many opinions, Captain Adama."

The song came to an end, and for one brief moment Laura thought he was going to kiss her. Instead, he took her arm and politely escorted her back to the blanket.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Bill," Cheryl said when they joined her sisters. Cheryl turned to Laura. "I'm staying in town a couple more days, if that's okay. I'll head back with Wally on Friday."

"Of course," she replied. She expected Adama to have a smug expression, but when she glanced in his direction, his face remained impassive.

He bid Cheryl and Sandra goodnight, and then turned to her, gazing directly into her eyes. She licked her lips.

"I'll see you next year, Ms Roslin, if not before."

He turned and strolled across the park toward his car.

"How about you both stay here on the blanket with me for a moment?" Sandra said from the ground. "He has a nice ass, Laura," she added.

Laura, who had been enjoying the Captain's rear view in his uniform up to this point, raised her chin. "I hadn't noticed," she lied.

The first flash of fireworks exploded overhead. Laura lowered herself to the ground, lay back on the blanket, and settled in between her girls. They all linked hands and silently enjoyed the show.


	3. Chapter 3

**June, 2002**

The air inside the house was stale from being locked up for so long, but Laura refused to pull back the drapes or open the windows. Preferring the dark, she turned on the air conditioning instead.

Everything looked just like it had the last time she'd been here. Laura busied herself with a series of everyday tasks. In the kitchen, she plugged in the refrigerator and closed the door. She lifted the telephone to her ear, making sure it had a dial tone. She walked out to the laundry room and switched on the hot water, before finally heading back outside to unload her car.

She was about to lug in her third load of supplies when she heard a car pull into the driveway next door.

The man getting out of his vehicle was a stranger. Laura had talked to him three times over the course of almost twelve months: the first time on his porch, the second time at the harborside Fourth of July festivities, and the third time over the telephone from his ship. That had been last August; before both their lives had changed.

Yet Laura felt like she knew him. She'd kept the gift he'd sent her in January; she even had it with her now. Other people had sent her flowers that had soon wilted, or cards that she had shoved into a shoebox and hidden at the back of the closet. Bill Adama's gift, though, had been special.

He opened his trunk and retrieved a suitcase, then looked up and saw her standing there. They both stood gazing at each other before finally he broke the spell and moved toward his front door.

She reached into her own trunk for another bag of groceries, blinking tears out of her eyes.

"Here, let me." Suddenly he was beside her, taking the bag out of her hands. She glanced over his shoulder and saw his suitcase resting against the porch railing. Laura quickly wiped at the corners of her eyes as he reached into the trunk for the final bag, balancing them both in his arms. "Kitchen?"

She nodded mutely, locking her car before following him into the house.

He was turning back from the counter when she caught up. He was dressed casually in jeans that looked like they were worn from hard use, and not because they'd been stonewashed in some factory. His t-shirt was a stark white, showing off his dark skin. Like the one he was wearing the day they met, it had _Eisenhower_ printed across its front; a bleak reminder of why he hadn't contacted her during these last few months. He had two new accessories: a pair of round spectacles, and a streak of gray at his temples. Laura thought they both merely added to his physical appeal.

"I thought you'd still be overseas."

"I got back last week. I've been at Norfolk." He shrugged. "Unless your boss changes his mind, we head back in six weeks time. How long will you be in town?"

"I'm not sure," she said truthfully. Laura began to busy herself with unpacking the groceries. "Thank you for giving me a hand with these."

His hand, rubbing against her sleeve, stilled her.

"Laura, I wish I could have been there."

Laura stared dully at a mark on the countertop.

"Would you care to join me for dinner one of these nights?" he asked.

The telephone interrupted any reply Laura was going to make. She snapped it up before its second ring.

"Hello. Yes… Yes… No. Vance can kiss my ass."

Bill gave a low rumble beside her.

"I don't care… Monday, make him sweat until Monday… Yes… Thanks."

Laura hung up and looked over at Bill, who was standing perfectly still, watching her. She bit her lip.

"Yes," she said finally. "Not tonight. I need to…"

Bill gently squeezed her arm. "Let me know when you're ready."

Laura felt hot tears burn her eyes yet again. Her whimper of frustration turned to something else when she felt his thumbs brush gently across her cheekbones. His touch felt so good.

She stepped back, breaking the contact. She didn't want to feel anything.

"Thank you for helping me with the bags," she said, staring at her shoes intently.

His hand eventually fell away.

"Laura." He murmured her name as a farewell.

Laura didn't look up again until she heard the front door open and close, signaling his departure.

0.0.0

Laura spread out the blanket and fell down onto its center.

Opening the champagne bottle with a pop, she splashed a generous amount into her glass, licking her fingers when the bubbles overflowed.

Lying back, Laura looked up at the sky. There were too many clouds to see the stars. She imagined the organizers of tonight's festivities praying that the rain stayed away. She was praying for it to come.

_"Every year, no matter what we're doing or where we're living, we'll spend the Fourth of July together."_

Laura gulped down her drink, attempting to drown out the memories of last year. This year Wally was working. Like Laura, he'd buried himself in his work. It wouldn't surprise her if he was sitting at his desk with a pile of paperwork in front of him tonight.

She presumed Bill was at the harborside park. She'd spied him getting into his car earlier, wearing his full dress uniform, just like last year. He would probably be involved in the evening's ceremonies once again.

Laura's telephone had rung throughout the day. Assuming that it was Bill, she had simply ignored it.

_"I can't imagine anything nicer than watching the stars, listening to music, and sipping champagne right here, by the waterfront, with my two favorite sisters."_

Laura had decided to spend this year in her own backyard.

All around the neighborhood, dogs began to bark and howl restlessly. In the distance, Laura soon heard the steady booming of the fireworks that were causing their distress.

She held her glass up high. "Happy Fourth of July," she toasted.

0.0.0.

The rain was coming down in thick sheets, stinging Laura's skin as she lay on the blanket. She couldn't hear the fireworks anymore; only the rain beating on the rooftops.

Laura closed her eyes and made no effort to head for shelter.

0.0.0.

Laura swayed. Her head rolled onto something solid. She felt weightless and suddenly warm.

Why couldn't she feel the rain anymore? She could still hear it.

She shivered against Bill Adama's chest. She knew it was him, carrying her across the yard toward the house. No one else could be here. No one else could lift her so effortlessly.

Her nails curled and dug into his shoulders.

"Bill?" she croaked.

"Shush, honey. It's okay."

Once inside, Bill headed straight for the downstairs bathroom, and carefully set her back on her feet. Laura's head lolled; he caught her, holding her in place against the wall with one hand while he leaned over and twisted the taps in the shower with the other.

Once the water was running, he turned his attention back to her, tugging at her sodden clothing. Laura's arms dangled at her sides, offering him no assistance. She looked down at herself when he had completely removed her blouse and bra, noting her erect nipples. She looked back up at Bill, frowning at his apparent lack of interest.

He tugged her skirt and panties down and maneuvered her into the shower stall. She shuddered in reaction; the water's warmth only highlighted how freezing she really was. Instinctively stepping out from under the flow, she backed up against the glass and slid down until she was sitting on the tiles, her knees drawn up to her chin.

"Laura!"

Her teeth chattered, preventing her from speaking.

Bill let out a loud growl from the other side of the shower door, then ripped at his clothes, undressing down to his boxers. Stepping into the shower, he gripped her under her arms and hauled her upright. The hot water poured across her back. Laura stared at his neck for a moment before leaning in and suckling on it.

"Laura—"

Laura let her eyes drift shut again, feeling her way across his chin and along his jaw line with her mouth until she found his own. She tasted him, exploring the softness of his lips, coercing him with slow, lingering kisses until he finally let out a deep moan and responded. Open-mouthed and wet, they kissed and kissed. Their tongues, hips and chests pressed together, unwinding an entire year's worth of frustration.

Bill dragged his mouth away from hers and turned off the shower. Opening the linen closet, he found them both fresh towels. He handed one to her, and twisted the other around his waist before disposing of his wet boxers. Laura watched him, running the towel carelessly over her body, until he impatiently yanked it from her grasp and took over the task.

"Come on," he said, guiding her up the stairs and into her bedroom.

Laura threw the towel off and pulled the bedspread down in one fluid movement, then fell heavily onto the mattress.

Bill fussed with her sheets and blanket until she was cocooned snugly beneath the covers.

"What are you doing?" she asked, frowning.

"You need to sleep."

"Don't wanna sleep." She struggled until she freed an arm. She reached up and sank her fingers into his thick hair. "I want to forget." She pushed against the nape of his neck, drawing his face down to hers. She kissed him just once before he managed to exert his superior strength and pull away from her.

"This won't help," Bill said, his voice gruff. "You've been trying to forget for too long. You need to start remembering."

Laura twisted at the bedding, angry at both his rebuttal and his psychoanalysis.

"I think you should leave now."

Bill edged closer and took her hand. "I know how close you were. I saw that for myself. I know that you've changed since their accident." He wiped gently at her silently falling tears. "Your eyes aren't as bright as they used to be."

"Will it ever get better?" she whispered, all her anger now gone.

"No: not when you love somebody that much. Yes: you need to give it time."

"Will you stay?" she asked. "Just until I fall asleep," she added when he hesitated.

Bill lay down beside her, and Laura gratefully rested her head on his chest, her eyes drifting shut almost immediately. She was safe for the time being.

0.0.0.

Laura rolled over to check the time when she woke. It was nearly lunchtime. She got up, and discovering her naked state, she blushed at her behavior the night before. First she'd gotten drunk. Then she'd allowed herself to get soaked through to the skin, the rain sobering her up somewhat. Finally, and most embarrassingly, she'd propositioned Bill Adama, and he'd rebuffed her advances.

Donning her robe, she thumped down the stairs, hoping some caffeine in her system might clear her head.

She paused abruptly at the bottom of the staircase, whirling around in astonishment at the brightness of the ground floor. Her drapes and curtains were pulled back. A gentle breeze flowed in through several open windows.

Laura noticed a book sitting on the coffee table. She recognized it instantly as the gift Bill had sent her when Cheryl and Sandra had been killed. It had been on her bedside table last night. She frowned; why had he moved it?

She walked over and picked it up, sinking into the sofa as she read the poem he'd marked.

_Not knowing when the Dawn will come;_  
_I open every Door,_  
_Or has it Feathers, like a Bird,_  
_Or Billows, like a Shore –_

The telephone roused her from her trance-like state.

"Hello?"

She listened to the voice on the other end.

"No," she replied. Then, "Yes." She checked the time. "If I pack now and leave immediately, I can be back in the office first thing tomorrow morning."

She hung up the phone and glanced around.

"Sorry, Bill. I'm not ready to open the doors just yet."


	4. Chapter 4

**July, 2003**

Laura stopped scrubbing and wrung out her cloth when she heard the doorbell ring. Before she went to answer it, she paused a moment to glance quickly around the kitchen. She decided that it was good enough for the inspection.

She swiped at an errant lock of hair that kept falling in her eyes. Taking the clip out of her hair and holding it between her teeth, she opened the door. She was surprised, yet secretly delighted, to see the man who stood the other side.

"Good morning," he greeted her.

Twisting her hair into a makeshift bun and clipping it into place, she grinned across at him.

"Captain." Laura noticed the way her voice automatically took on a low, flirty tone when she greeted Bill Adama. "I didn't know you were home," she added.

"I only just got in," he replied. "Saw your car out front."

Laura's eyes traveled up his body, admiring his sturdy shape underneath the neat khaki shirt and trousers that made up his uniform.

"I have to run into town to stock up on supplies," Bill said. "I thought you might like to come with me. Join me for a coffee."

Laura looked down at her dress. She was wearing it for comfort, not style. Surprisingly, it still seemed clean enough, but it wasn't something she would normally wear out in public, especially in Washington. It looked drab and ordinary next to his his crisp uniform.

"Maybe I should change first."

"You look beautiful," he said.

She froze and looked across at him. Her breath caught when she saw the expression on his face; he really did think she was beautiful.

"Just—", he began, then reached out and used his thumb to wipe carefully at a smudge on her cheek.

Laura bit down on her lip, feeling electricity pulse through her body at his touch.

"Better," he murmured, then cleared his throat. "You were spring cleaning?"

"Yes. I'm getting the house ready to put on the market."

"You're selling?" Bill asked, with a surprised lift of his brows.

"Yes," Laura sighed. "I should have done it last year. Instead of—"

He reached out and took her hands in his, giving them a gentle squeeze.

"At least I've opened the curtains this year," she joked.

Bill merely gave her a sad, sympathetic smile.

"I'll just grab my purse," she said.

"You won't need it. If I invite a lady out for coffee, I intend to foot the bill."

"Such a gentleman," she teased, adjusting their joined hands so that they could walk side by side. She felt lightheaded when the fingers of one hand remained linked with his as she locked the door.

They were almost at his car when she heard another vehicle pull up and into her driveway. Laura was shocked when she recognized the low red sports car and the person climbing out of it.

"Sean!" she exclaimed, letting Bill's hand drop abruptly.

The tall, muscle-bound man she'd been seeing off and on for the last few months smiled brightly in her direction. He carried a huge bouquet of red roses.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"I came down to spend a few days with you, of course." He looped an arm around her waist, pulled her toward him, and bent his head to kiss her. She instantly pushed back on his chest, uncomfortable that Bill should witness such a display.

"I… I don't—"

"I'll give you a rain check on that coffee," Bill said from behind her. Laura spun around, searching his face. He kept his eyes downcast; his stance polite, yet remote. "I'll see you later, Laura."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he was already inside his car, slamming the door.

"You were going out for coffee?" Sean asked as she watched Bill's car reverse and drive away.

"Yes," she murmured, trying to control her anger. She couldn't decide whom she was angriest with: Sean, Bill, or herself.

"Why don't you put these in water, and we can head out for the same thing? You can show me around your quaint little town. Or show me off; whatever you'd prefer."

Laura gave a jerky nod and stalked back into the house with the flowers. She realized dimly that she was making quite a lot of noise as she clattered around in her kitchen cabinets, searching for an empty vase.

"Great spot," Sean said as he wandered around the ground floor, occasionally opening drawers and closets to peer inside. "Though if you were closer to the harbor, you could get more money for this place."

She found a pair of scissors and snipped violently at the flowers' stems before shoving them into the vase she'd found.

"Right," she snapped. "Ready?"

"Are you going to get changed, babe?" Sean asked.

She raised an eyebrow. "Changed?"

"In case we run into anyone."

She grunted, but headed to her bedroom nevertheless. Getting changed would give her a moment to reflect, at least.

0.0.0

Laura banged on Bill's door again. She'd already rung his bell a few times, and knocked once. She didn't think he was the type to deliberately ignore someone knocking, but in truth, how much did she really know about him?

She had only talked to him a few brief times in a couple of years, so the reality was that she didn't know anything, no matter how much she felt that she did.

She raised her hand, telling herself this would be his last chance. The door opened. He stood in the doorway, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, his hair dripping.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I was in the shower."

She forgot whatever she'd been about to say as her gaze became riveted on his naked chest for a long moment.

He stood back invitingly. "Come in. I'll just go and get dressed."

He disappeared up the stairs, leaving her to study his house unabashedly. She remembered Cheryl extolling the décor of Bill's home. She gravitated toward the living room. The space could almost be classed as a library; it overflowed with books of all shapes and sizes. They were stacked neatly in the bookshelves, as well as less tidily in scattered piles around the floor. She wondered for a moment if Cheryl was looking down at her and laughing.

"What can I do for you?"

Bill had returned. He stood in the doorway, dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt. He looked like he'd simply run his fingers through his hair. Laura frowned; her fingers were itching to do the same.

What did she want? What was she doing here? She didn't owe Bill Adama any explanations.

Laura turned away from his gaze, studying his living room again. "Could I borrow a book?" she blurted out.

She turned back and saw that, for once, his stoic expression had slipped. He seemed as surprised as she was by the request.

"You have time to read tonight?"

Laura bristled at his sarcasm. "Yes. Sean's gone," she snapped.

He grunted.

"Not that it's any of your business," Laura went on, "but I didn't invite him here. I didn't think things were serious enough that he'd just turn up on my doorstep like that."

He stared directly into her eyes. His mouth remained clamped shut.

"We weren't in what I'd call a committed relationship."

He continued to give her the same steady look, which only caused her to become more frustrated.

"It was just sex," she said, hoping to shock him into action.

Bill's jaw tightened, but he remained silent.

She wanted him to yell at her; throw something at her. "He never knocked me back," she taunted.

Finally, she saw his nostrils flare at this jibe. "You'd have liked it better if I had slept with you that night?" Bill ground out. "You'd think I was more of a man, to take advantage of you when you were in that state?"

He turned his back to her, searching amongst the titles of his bookcase.

Laura whimpered when she felt tears spring to her eyes. She didn't want to cry; she wanted to stay angry. Being angry was much easier. She was so tired of crying. She felt like she'd been crying for years now.

"Here," Bill said, holding a book in her direction.

Laura looked down and saw the title. More tears welled in her eyes.

"How did you know?" she asked.

"Cheryl told me." His voice held none of its previous gruffness. Instead, it was gentle and sympathetic.

"You and Cheryl got along well."

"I never had a daughter," he said simply.

"You only knew her a few days."

He never answered, but she knew that the connection had run deep, even in that short time.

She choked. "My mother died of cancer. Cheryl and Sandra were so young. Only nine and seven when it happened."

Bill nodded, making her wonder just how much Cheryl had told him. "She loved you," he said softly.

Laura smoothed a hand gently across the cover of the book. "I'll return this before I head back to Washington."

"Keep it."

"I can't—"

"Keep it," he repeated.


	5. Chapter 5

**July, 2004**

Laura turned the page of her calendar to the new month.

She wasn't taking a vacation this year. She'd be attending the President's Fourth of July Ball right here in Washington. She'd been _requested_ to attend.

She opened the third drawer of her desk and pulled out the book she kept her private contact numbers in, opening it to 'A'.

She picked up the telephone and slowly punched in the first three digits. But then she lost her nerve, and pressed the disconnect button instead.

Laura spun her chair around to take in the view from her office window. Everyone looked like they had a destination; hurrying home to start the long weekend.

Turning back to her desk, she picked up her pen and decided to address some of the growing backlog of paperwork.

It soon became apparent, however, that she couldn't concentrate.

Her eyes wandered back to the telephone. It wasn't such a difficult thing, she told herself. You got a tone, you dialed the numbers, and you waited for the person the other end to answer. Easy.

Laura sighed. The difficult part was that she hadn't spoken to the person she was calling for almost twelve months.

If Bill Adama had wanted to talk to her, he could have called. He knew her number, after all. He'd rung her once before.

It had been in August, 2001. She hadn't had a good day. Richard's latest mistress was threatening to go to the press. She was in full damage control mode.

"Laura Roslin," she'd snapped.

"Hello." He hadn't announced himself. There was no need. The rich tones of his voice came through the phone line with just the right amount of huskiness; her heart rate responded accordingly.

"Captain?" she greeted him with surprise.

"Is this a bad time?"

There was a slight echo in the line, and a short delay when he replied, leading Laura to believe he was calling from the_ Eisenhower_.

"Yes, but it doesn't matter. I don't think there would be any good time today."

"That bad, huh?"

"Worse."

"I can call back."

"No!" she practically shouted. "No," she repeated firmly. "How'd you get my private office number? Oh, don't tell me, Cheryl."

He'd chuckled. "She likes to talk."

"You're a good listener." It was true. He didn't interrupt or talk over the top of people. Laura imagined it would be the way he would command. He wouldn't cajole or charm people the way Richard Adar did. He would take advice from others, let his crew have input, then make his decision after careful deliberation.

Laura wondered how he reacted when he needed to make split-second, life-or-death decisions. He didn't seem the type. Considering his rank within the Navy, though, he must have learned to do so.

"So, I'm listening," he said. "Tell me something."

She grinned. "Something? Like what?"

"I don't know. Something I don't know about you."

She absentmindedly curled the phone cord around the fingers of her other hand. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know lots."

"Lots?"

"I know you can dance. I know your favorite song is Fly Me to the Moon."

"And?" she prompted when he paused.

"And you're single. Which seems to be vitally important to me at the moment."

Her breath caught at his confession, at the intimacy in his tone.

"Tell me something no one knows," he quietly ordered.

"I can't think of anything—"

"Yes you can. One thing. It can be as silly or as serious as you want."

"Okay. Um," she paused, thinking. "I love foot rubs."

"Foot rubs?"

"Yes. I wear these ridiculous high heels all day. Every evening I kick them off and snuggle into the couch with a book. And I long for a foot rub," she explained. "Now, you tell me one."

"Okay." He was silent, thinking. So silent she thought they'd been disconnected.

"Bill?"

"I'm here."

"What's one thing no one knows about you?"

"It's a new thing. Just now."

"Uh-huh."

"I want to join you on that couch. Read to you from your book. Give you a foot rub."

Laura leaned back and closed her eyes, savoring the image for a moment.

"That's cheating," she finally said, her own voice becoming equally husky. "I demand you tell me another."

"Okay." There was a prolonged period of silence again. Not complete silence, she corrected herself; she could hear his breathing. "There is one thing."

"What is it?"

"I—"

Another voice came on the line. "Thirty seconds, sir."

"Sorry," he said. "We have a limit on calls at the moment. It wouldn't look good if I abused my position."

"Oh," she sighed. "No. I guess not."

"We can continue this at a later time."

"Okay," she agreed breathlessly.

They never had continued their conversation. Less than a month later, America had been attacked and the _Eisenhower _was dispatched to the Arabian Sea.

Richard Adar gave many stirring speeches, some written by Laura, in the shocking aftermath of the attacks. He continually displayed the talent for leadership and strength of character that the country was desperate for in the wake of the terrible tragedy.

In December, Adar had been elected President. In January, Cheryl and Sandra were dead. Bill Adama was still assigned to an overseas post. The opportunity for romance had passed them by.

_The more things change, the more they stay the same._

Richard had a new mistress. This time, however, she didn't need to worry that the other woman was going to approach the press.

Laura picked up the telephone again and determinedly dialed the number.

"Adama."

He'd answered. _ Now what, Laura?..._

"You never told me," she said, "what your one thing was."

Silence greeted her. Had she been foolish to assume that not only would he recognize her voice, but would also recall a telephone conversation from three years ago?...

"Why don't I tell you in person when you come down for the fireworks on Saturday night?"

"I've sold the house," she sighed. "Remember?"

"I know. But you're welcome to stay here."

"I don't think-," she began, then paused and inhaled deeply, steadying herself.

"I've got a spare room. Two of them," he added.

Laura wondered what he'd say if she invited him to be her date for the President's Ball. She was shocked by her sudden lustful desire to see Bill Adama in a tuxedo.

"I have to work."

This was true. The Ball was definitely work; shaking hands, endless small talk, smiling.

"All weekend?"

"Yes." For the first time since meeting Bill, she felt uncomfortable talking to him. This had been a mistake. There was too much water under the bridge for them; too much time between drinks.

"I'm sorry, Bill, I've just had someone come into my office with a pressing problem," she lied. "I have to go."

She hung up as soon as he'd muttered a brief 'okay' and 'goodbye' in reply.

She jumped when the telephone trilled to life almost immediately afterwards.

"Hello, Laura."

"Mr. President," she replied.

"I was thinking about that black bra of yours," he told her in a low voice. "Are you wearing it?"

"Yes," she replied automatically. But then she remembered that the item in question was in a drawer at home, not on her body. She always told Richard whatever he wanted to hear. She'd fallen so easily into the habit, but now, suddenly, it was beginning to sicken her.

Richard groaned into the phone. "Thirty minutes. The apple room?" he asked. He'd probably invented the code several mistresses ago.

Her relationship with Sean Ellison was all about being seen. She brought prestige to his public reputation. Laura Roslin was a well-known name, and she was invited to all the right functions and parties.

Her relationship with Richard Adar was all about not being seen. She could be trusted never to sully his reputation. He turned on the charm, made her feel wanted for a while, and then left her with her independence.

Did she want to go? She was tiring of Adar, but what was the alternative? It was a much better arrangement than pursuing Bill Adama.

Richard would never love her. She would never love him.

Bill would love her. He would do everything in his power not to hurt her. As such, she would end up hurt anyway. She'd had enough of hurt.

But Bill would also respect her. She was slowly losing respect for herself by carrying on with Richard.

"I can't. Sorry."

She hung up quickly, before Richard could try to change her mind. She knew she would have to face him sooner or later; tell him it was over.

Because it was over.

It was time she found out what she was capable of without a man. Any man.

She tore the page from her little book, and stared at the numbers for a long moment before walking over to the shredder that sat in the corner of her office.


	6. Chapter 6

**July, 2005**

Laura pressed the doorbell again, leaning in close to check if it was working. It sounded like it was, but she banged on the door with her fist just in case.

No one answered.

Bill's car was parked in the driveway. But he could have gone for a walk, or caught a cab somewhere, she reasoned.

She bent down and yelled through the keyhole like she'd seen people do in the movies. "Bill!"

The house remained silent. Her cell phone, however, chose that moment to start buzzing in her handbag. Laura fished it out and flipped it open.

"Roslin."

She instantly recognized Wallace Gray's voice. "Laura? The President is waiting for you in the Roosevelt Room."

"I'm afraid he'll be disappointed," she replied. "I'm not in Washington."

"What? Where are you?"

"I'm taking a few days' leave, Wally. My aide has all the details." Details which, she was now guessing, hadn't actually been passed along to anyone. Laura made a mental note that she would need to find a new aide when she returned. This wasn't the girl's first blunder.

"Are you okay? You never said anything to me."

"I'm fine," Laura quickly assured her brother-in-law. "It's Bill."

"Bill?"

"Bill Adama. You remember Bill Adama?"

On the other end of the line, Wally was silent for a moment. He had only met Bill once, and that meeting would undoubtedly remind him of Cheryl. "Yeah, yeah, of course," he finally murmured.

"It's his son. You can read about it in today's Post. Page seven. A young soldier dies in Iraq, and they only manage to find room on page seven," she said in a bitter voice.

Wally's next words were uttered slowly, precisely; he seemed to be testing the waters. "Laura, I didn't think you'd even talked to the guy in years. Don't you think you're becoming a little too personally involved? Is this really any of your business?"

Laura closed her eyes briefly. Wally had just said aloud what she'd been thinking all morning on the trip down. Yet she hadn't turned back.

"You're right. I haven't seen him in two years." And even then, their last meeting hadn't been at all enjoyable. Any chance that it could have been was blown when Sean turned up on her doorstep.

Her last contact with Bill had been a year later, when she had made a fool of herself by calling him. Her aide at the time had been highly efficient, and had dealt with his subsequent phone calls swiftly and without further ado.

Laura wasn't even sure how long it had taken for Bill to give up at last.

"But you're still going to see him?"

Laura straightened her spine. "Yes. Yes, I am."

"All right. Call me later? Just to let me know you're okay."

"Wally, I'm a big girl."

"Humor me," he said before hanging up.

Putting her phone away, she knocked on Bill's door one more time, but was once again met only by silence. Sighing in resignation, she stepped down off the porch and decided to go around to the back of the house. Bill used to keep some outdoor furniture there; she could sit and wait until he returned.

The sliding glass door looked in on the kitchen. She could see enough evidence to believe Bill had definitely been in town a couple of days at least. Empty beer bottles were lined up along the bench, as well as two empty bottles of some sort of spirits; rum, perhaps.

Laura tapped at the glass with her knuckles, thinking Bill might be on this side of the house. The door rattled under her touch, indicating that it was unlocked. She slid the door across and poked her head through the opening.

"Bill?" she called.

Laura hesitated for a few moments, then decided to enter the house in search of him. She wandered along the hallway until she reached his beautiful living room.

"Bill?" Her voice automatically dropped to a reverent whisper as she stepped into the masculine space, decorated in rich shades of brown and orange, lined with wall-to-wall bookshelves. There was a lamp burning in the corner, but no other sign of Bill. He wasn't curled up on the long leather couch, or in the rocking chair which sat forlornly still beneath the window.

Reluctantly, she slipped back out of the room. At the foot of the stairs, she called up to him: "Bill!"

For the first time since first pressing the doorbell, it dawned on Laura that he might be in bed, asleep. Before she could lose her nerve, she climbed the stairs. Her familiarity with the other side of the duplex helped her find her way to the master bedroom.

She tapped gently on the door. "Bill?..."

A cough and a groan issued from the other side of the door.

"Bill? It's Laura," she repeated. "Can I come in?"

She heard more coughing. Bill was probably drunk, she thought, judging by the bottles down in the kitchen. The sounds she could hear might be him throwing up. Laura pushed open the door; at the very least, she told herself, she should roll him into the recovery position.

She had expected to walk into a dark den. Instead the room was bright; too bright. All the curtains and drapes were pulled back. The afternoon sun was pouring into the room, making it overly warm and humid. The light fixture overhead only added to the stifling heat.

Laura's nostrils burned with the sickly-sweet smell of rum. That was all. No urine, or cigarettes, or vomit. She thanked God for small mercies, and approached the figure propped up against the headboard of his bed.

"Bill?"

He looked up then. His beautiful blue eyes were streaked with red. Heavy, dark circles had bloomed underneath them, smudging their way toward his cheeks. His cheeks were also shadowed with at least three days' worth of stubble.

Bill frowned, and then closed his eyes as his upper body swayed. "Go away. Now is not a good time," he muttered, knocking his teeth on the bottle as he took another swig.

Laura turned back to the doorway, switched off the light, and pressed a couple of buttons to bring the room to a more comfortable temperature.

Abandoning her shoes by the climate controls, she went to check the bathroom. Once again, she was surprised that nothing looked out of place. Bill seemed to be a clean drunk, at least.

Taking a deep breath to steel her nerves, Laura returned to Bill's side, perching cautiously on the edge of the mattress. She unwrapped his fingers, one by one, from around the bottle, gradually prying it loose. She carried the bottle back into the bathroom and poured the remainder of its contents down the drain. Then she found a clean washcloth and ran it briefly under the tap.

When she returned, Bill's head had fallen to his chest. Laura wondered if he'd fallen asleep.

"Bill?" she said tentatively.

"Dammit, woman," he growled. "Get out of my head!"

He kept his eyes closed as she began to wipe his face with the damp cloth, cooling him down.

"I'll never be free of you, will I?" he slurred.

She hesitated for a brief moment, and then swept the cloth down to his chest, which was bare. His lower body was hidden beneath the sheets; she couldn't help but speculate if he was naked there as well.

"Feels good," he mumbled.

She had to agree. He felt so different from her past lovers. His muscles felt strong, but not in an affected way. His physique was achieved through sheer hard work and the occasional bout with a boxing bag. They felt real. Bill Adama was real.

He would never wax his chest or cap his teeth like Sean. He would never indulge in manicures or tan himself in a salon like Richard.

Laura swirled the cloth down further, momentarily intrigued by his lack of body hair. She would have presumed from his coloring that he would have quite a lot of it.

She should stop. She had come to comfort him, but instead, she was behaving like some crazy nymphomaniac.

Suddenly Bill moved, faster than she could ever have anticipated. He pulled her down onto the mattress and rolled her onto her back, pinning her beneath his body. In that moment, Laura realized how hopelessly naïve she'd been. She hadn't even considered the possibility that he could become violent when drunk.

"Can't I even mourn my son without you haunting me?" he sneered.

Laura opened her mouth to protest, but was silenced by his lips moving against her own. His tongue plunged into her mouth; the taste of rum was so strong, it was just like she was drinking it herself. It wasn't as unpleasant as she expected.

Then he pulled back and stared down at her, his eyes wide. "You're really here?" he said in wonder. "You're not a dream?"

"I'm really here," Laura confirmed, pushing a lock of his hair back from his forehead.

He collapsed down into her neck, sobbing. "He's dead," he moaned, repeating those two words over and over again, making her heart break.

"I know, I know," she said, stroking his hair soothingly.

She wasn't sure who moved first, but, in the next moment, his head was no longer buried in her neck. Instead their lips were pressed together and they were kissing again.

From the amount of alcohol in Bill's system, Laura would have expected him to display scant finesse; but once again, he was proving to be a contradiction. His kisses were slow, drugging, making her lose sense of time and place. His tongue was neither wet nor intrusive in her mouth. It teased hers, just as the thrusting of his hips began to tease her.

His hands pulled at her clothing, but his fingers were a little clumsy, and the buttons on her blouse were proving a challenge. Laura sat up to help him, shedding her clothing eagerly, modesty and good sense both forgotten.

Once she was completely naked, he tugged her back down onto the mattress, and with one thrust he entered her.

She had been sufficiently aroused, so that it didn't hurt; but it was still a shock. After the slow passion of his kisses, she had expected more foreplay from Bill.

He was well endowed. Her body stretched to accommodate him. But he made no further effort to thrust, lying still and quiet now that they were joined.

"Bill," Laura whimpered, confused.

She tried to catch his eye, but his head was again buried against her chest. She felt the wetness of his tears pooling between her breasts. When she reached out and stroked his hair, his entire body shuddered.

"He's dead," he murmured against her skin. She felt crushing guilt at his words, but she forgot it quickly enough when the angle of his head moved just a fraction and he began to kiss the curve of her breast. She shivered when he took her nipple fully into his mouth.

Her hands swept down the broadness of his back, feathering across his taut buttocks before moving back up to squeeze his shoulders reassuringly.

He still hadn't moved within her, but she'd become oddly content with this arrangement. Her inner muscles gripped his erection deep inside her, holding him to her possessively.

When he began to rock his hips at last, it was almost as much of a shock as his initial penetration had been. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders; he let go of her nipple, simultaneously hissing with pain and pushing deeper into her.

Her legs wound themselves around his waist, causing her pelvis to tilt so that he filled her, more satisfactorily than she could have ever imagined.

"You're here," he groaned as he quickened their pace.

His eyes were still glazed with tears, anxiety evident in their blue depths. Laura closed her own, trying to forget about how nobly Bill had behaved, back when their positions had been reversed. She had thrown herself shamelessly at him when she had been vulnerable, after Cheryl and Sandra's deaths. But he'd done the right thing, and not taken advantage of her.

She couldn't do the same. Instead, she clung tightly him as he pounded into her.

"Harder," she encouraged.

He instantly obeyed, and Laura conveniently forgot the question of whether or not they should be doing this. She forgot everything; everything but how wonderful it felt.

Faintly, she heard him moan her name, but she was too wrapped up in her own sensations to take much notice. She bit down on her bottom lip, trying to hold back the moans and whimpers he was eliciting.

Then, her only thought was the pleasure as she came. She stilled, moisture rushed to where they were joined, and her whole body shook with her reaction.

"Laura," he called out, "I'm sorry."

But her befuddled brain was too busy luxuriating in her orgasm's aftermath to process the apology. She had to shake herself out of her selfish reverie when he collapsed on top of her and began to weep uncontrollably.


	7. Chapter 7

Laura walked into Bill's kitchen to find him leaning against the counter, fiddling awkwardly with the coffee maker.

He swung around, clearly surprised, when he heard her enter.

"I thought you'd left," he said.

"No, just went out for some groceries," she replied, setting two bags down on the countertop.

Bill had showered and shaved, and she even detected the faint scent of toothpaste in the air as he spoke. He was dressed like he had been on the day when they first met, in an old t-shirt with cut-off sleeves; but this time he had on a pair of shorts instead of sweatpants. Laura found herself admiring his sturdy limbs until, disappointingly, he reached for the brown terrycloth robe that hung over the back of a kitchen chair and pulled it around himself, tying it loosely at the waist.

After weeping against her for a long time, he'd eventually fallen into a deep, exhausted sleep. She had slipped out from underneath him then, and helped herself to the shower. Even though it was early-only five o'clock in the afternoon-she'd been careful not to disturb him when she'd crept back into the bedroom and dressed.

Once downstairs, she'd telephoned Wally to reassure him she was okay before making a quick inventory of his pantry. She'd realized that Bill had been more intent on purchasing liquor than food, so she'd run out to the shops, hoping to find something that might tempt his appetite.

"When is the funeral?" she asked.

He took a deep breath. "Tomorrow morning," he replied, staring intently at the floor.

She waited for him to ask her to join him, but he remained silent, continuing to avoid her gaze.

"I'm sorry," he finally said.

"Sorry?"

"For the way I behaved."

She frowned, unsure what part of his behavior he was talking about. Was he sorry for having sex with her? Sorry for crying? Sorry for drinking?

"I forced—"

Her cell phone buzzed to life. She swore and fished it out of her bag.

"Roslin," she snapped. It was her aide, with a list of messages. She put her hand over the receiver. "Sorry, Bill, I have to take this."

She slipped outside onto the back deck to take the call, while he moved to unpack the groceries she had bought.

When she returned about a half an hour later, he had put together a salad. Two pieces of chicken also sizzled in a pan.

"Sorry," she said, leaning over his shoulder and sniffing appreciatively. "Smells good. Can I set the table?"

"Or we could juggle our plates on a tray on our laps in the living room. That's my usual."

"Sounds even better."

She moved back and watched him as he finished preparing the meal, then arranged a tray with cutlery and a bottle of water for each of them.

He ushered her through to the living room and set her tray down on an ornate maple coffee table. She sank down into the tan leather of the couch.

"Are you sure you want to eat in here?" Laura asked. "I wouldn't want to ruin the furniture."

"It's a living room, not a furniture showroom," he replied. "If you spill something, we'll wipe it up."

"You make life sound so simple."

He shrugged. "Sometimes it is."

Life with Bill could be simple. Eating meals together. Choosing and reading a book from his impressive collection. Making love...

Laura shook her head to dispel her wandering thoughts. They had only slept together once. It had been beautiful and awful, all at the same time. But she wasn't sure he'd want to repeat the experience. The whole thing had probably been just a simple reflex on his part; a way to stop some of the pain.

She decided not to think too hard about what it had meant to her. Bill Adama had become an itch she desperately needed to scratch. And now that she had…

She became aware of Bill putting down his tray and moving toward the bookcase. He returned with a large leather-bound album.

"Zachary Tobias Adama. He turned 22 in March."

He sighed heavily and opened the book. Laura set aside her own tray and moved over, closer to Bill, looking over his shoulder at the photographs.

"My other son, Lee," Bill said, indicating the older boy who joined his brother in almost every shot.

"How many years between them?" Laura asked.

"Two and a half. They were as close as twins, though."

"How's he coping?"

"By blaming his father."

Laura frowned. "What? Why is it your fault?"

Bill let the album fall open on his lap. He leaned his head back and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling.

"I encouraged them both to join the military. I was… drifting for a few years." He paused for a moment, immersed in his own memories. "The navy gave me purpose. When Zak asked if I thought he should enlist, I told him what a good idea it was. Told him all the advantages of a career in the military. But I forgot all about the disadvantages." Bill paused again, his voice cracking slightly before he pulled himself together with a harsh shake of his head. "The military was right for me, not them. I was just too old and stupid to see that."

Laura reached out and touched his hand. "I don't think you're old. Or stupid."

"Zak would have never even thought of enlisting if not for me."

"That's right. He was proud of you. He could see what a good man you were. Even if you'd never given him one word of encouragement, he would probably have enlisted anyway. You lead by example, Bill. You can't stop your son from wanting to be like his father."

Laura clutched her hands back into her own lap, wondering how much more she should reveal. Sometimes it felt like she was always baring her soul to him.

"My mother was a teacher; a wonderful teacher. But my father was my hero. He was a political journalist. He talked day and night about politics. So, when I was old enough, I went to college and became a teacher just as my mother expected. But I dreamed of becoming a politician. To make my father proud."

"And you did."

She grimaced. "I'm not sure about the 'make my father proud' part."

Laura got up abruptly, avoiding any further discussion regarding her worth as a politician. She collected their plates, carrying them back into the kitchen to stack them in the dishwasher.

She moved to look out the sliding door into the night. It had started to rain, and she had the urge to go out and cry in it; tears for Bill, and herself, and their terrible timing.

She felt him silently enter the kitchen.

"I should go soon. Try and get home before it sets in," Laura said, without turning around.

"You can stay in the guest room," he offered in a gruff voice. "I promise I won't disturb you. I don't like the thought of you returning to Washington, by yourself, in this weather."

"I've been looking after myself for years now, Bill. I don't need mollycoddling."

He didn't reply, but she swore she could feel his gaze burning into her back.

Laura watched as the downpour began to ease. Even Mother Nature was against them. A storm of some sort would ensure that she had to stay.

She didn't know how to conclude their evening. Thank you for dinner and sex?

A sigh involuntarily escaped her.

"Laura, I—"

She turned and met his gaze. He looked just as uncomfortable as she was. At the very least, she thought, it probably meant that he didn't have casual sex often-if he had it at all.

She slipped past him and picked up her handbag from the kitchen counter. She stood awkwardly for a moment, wondering where her usual wit had escaped to.

"Goodbye, Bill," Laura said. She turned and left.

0.0.0

After supplying the Secret Service agents with her credentials, Laura finally found a spot where she could observe the funeral at a discreet distance. She stood alone, partially hidden behind a tree.

She seemed to be alone on this side of the cemetery. On the other, there was a ruler-straight row of uniformed soldiers ready to fire off a salute. Beside them, a team of Secret Service agents stood in formation, surveying their surroundings, pressing at their ears and speaking into their cuffs. Finally, a scrum of media obediently huddled behind a rope, cameras of all shapes and sizes at the ready.

On either side of the grave itself, a group of chairs was set out.

To one side, in the front row, a woman in a black suit and a hat festooned with netting was putting on a show for the photographers. By her side sat a young man with classically handsome features. Laura recognized him from the photos Bill had shown her last night: his son, Lee. The woman, whom Laura presumed to be the mother of Bill's children, leaned heavily on her son for support, sobbing uncontrollably.

On the woman's other side sat a man with a ramrod spine. His expression was a well-rehearsed one, conveying empathy and understanding, as well as gritty determination. Richard really did care about the young soldiers and sailors who were dying in Iraq. But he also cared that the bad publicity could swing the vote away from him in the upcoming election.

Every seat behind them was taken up by various people, none familiar to Laura, paying their respects.

Bill sat in front on the opposite side, wearing his full dress uniform and a stoic expression. Beside him was a young blonde, also in uniform. A few mourners were scattered in the chairs behind him.

Laura frowned. Were all Zak's friends and relatives blaming Bill for his premature death?...

A priest stepped forward to began the service.

The girl at Bill's side began to shake. No tears fell down her face that Laura could see, but her whole body began to tremble, perhaps with shock. Laura watched with pride as Bill reached out and took the girl's hand, calming her within a few minutes.

Next, the President gave a speech. Laura knew, even before he began to speak, that it would be laced heavily with patriotic sentiment. She saw Bill stiffen as cameras began to flash inside the press gallery.

When Richard sat down again, the row of soldiers behind them moved into formation and raised their rifles in the air. The girl at Bill's side flinched during each volley.

The flag that had draped the coffin was folded and passed to his ex-wife.

Bill stood and turned to leave, the girl automatically following his lead.

Laura swung around and hid herself fully behind the tree. She suddenly craved a cigarette, even though she'd given them up over twenty years ago.

0.0.0.

Laura entered the President's office as directed.

"Laura, come in," Richard's voice boomed from behind the desk. He was madly scribbling his signature. One of his assistants expertly pointed out the spots required, adeptly flicking over page after page.

"Are you going to tell me why you were skulking around at that soldier's funeral today?" he asked, once he'd dismissed his assistant.

Laura sat shakily in the chair he'd indicated. "How—"

"Security report included one of my trusted Cabinet members looking on from afar," he pre-empted her question. "You know the Adamas?"

"No. Yes," she stammered. "Only the father."

"Captain Adama? Then why didn't you just attend the service?"

Laura sighed. "It's complicated."

Richard stared at her for a long time, without speaking. Then, in a soft voice, he finally asked: "Don't tell me he broke the golden rule and fell in love with you?"

Laura flinched at how close Richard had come to the truth in just a few brief questions.

"Are you going to let him see you again?"

"I don't think he wants to," she said slowly. "I don't think he wanted me there today. I think he's regretting that we were intimate."

"Regretting sleeping with you?" Richard chuckled. "I doubt that, darlin'." He rose and pulled her up from her own chair. "Give it a couple of months, Laura. No one should ever have to bury their own child."

He shook his head slightly, and when he spoke again, the words were more his usual style; his tone that particularly alluring one he liked to use, the one that could persuade the devil himself.

"I need you, Laura. For the election. You're still going to be here for me, aren't you?"

"Of course," she said.

If she'd never had her career, what else would she have?


	8. Chapter 8

**July, 2006**

Laura followed the stiff back of the uniformed officer until he paused outside a hatch and knocked.

The hatch opened to reveal Bill. He was still dressed in his formal whites, with colorful medals arrayed across his chest.

Her aide had been in regular contact with his crew as the date of the decommissioning drew nearer, so he'd known that she was going to be on board today. During the official ceremonies, he had remained polite and respectful toward her, as well as to the President and the Secretary of Defense. But he had kept his distance.

She had attended today on the flimsiest of pretexts. A documentary about life in the military was being filmed, and it included a segment on aircraft carriers. The production team was aboard the _Eisenhower_ interviewing members of Bill's crew. Once completed, the documentary would be shown to eighth grade students throughout the country.

"Ms. Roslin," he greeted her politely.

"Captain Adama," she replied.

He dismissed her escort as she stepped through the hatch and glanced around his quarters. A desk sat near the doorway, cluttered with paperwork. There was a table with four chairs around it, and then the alcove where Bill slept.

Laura's gaze drifted involuntarily to his bunk. The bedding was so taut, a coin would bounce from it. The three shelves on the wall above the bunk held an assortment of books. In amongst the tomes was a scattering of picture frames; Laura moved closer and donned her glasses, studying the montage of photos of Lee and Zak. The photographic journey began with the two boys as toddlers, and ended with one of each young man at their respective Academy graduation ceremonies, standing proudly in their newly-earned uniforms.

"I thought you would have left with the President," Bill's voice rumbled behind her.

Laura turned around; he was standing very close to her. She could smell his aftershave, see his too-blue irises through the lenses of his glasses. It gave her new confidence. Maybe he was pleased that she was here today? Of course, she conceded, the room was cramped; he didn't have much choice but to be in her general vicinity.

He'd lost weight. His face was thinner. Even though he was wearing a heavy jacket, she could see that his arms were more defined, his chest broader. She should be excited; most women would find his look extremely attractive. However, she knew it was all a result of Zak's death. He'd been coping with his loss by working out to excess; punishing himself physically.

She finally answered his comment with a teasing question, trying to elicit a smile from him. "You didn't think I'd stay so I could get the private tour from the Captain?"

"What do you want, Laura?" he murmured.

All morning, she'd been torn between dreading this moment, when they were finally alone, and delighting in it. She was still unsure which emotion was winning now.

She reached out and brushed off an imaginary piece of lint from his tunic.

"I'm not sure what I want," she admitted.

"I am," Bill said.

She cocked her head to one side, enquiringly.

"You," he vowed. "I want you."

His head dipped down and they were kissing. On and on, like they'd been lost in the desert and the other's lips were oases.

Her hands reached up and found the buttons of his tunic. In their highly polished state, they slipped easily through the buttonholes. Her hands swept along the muscles that bulged through the plain white t-shirt he wore beneath.

Their lips never lost contact.

Her legs were lifted suddenly off the deck, and she was carried over to his bunk. He lay her down, running his hands down her legs until he reached her shoes. He slipped them off and tossed them across the room impatiently.

She heard a zipper and felt Bill tug at her skirt. She lifted her hips to aid him in slipping the garment off. It was only then that she realized that her jacket and blouse were already dispensed with, as were his trousers. She didn't even know which one of them had removed the clothing, or when.

Laura's lips were bruised and swollen, and she was gasping for air, but they kept kissing. Bill's lips were mostly hard and demanding, but now and then they gentled, parting enticingly, offering her the slow invitation of his tongue sliding against hers. Each time it did, she felt an answering rush of promise gather between her legs.

She felt his fingers brush against her thighs and she groaned, spreading herself for him wantonly.

Bill's mouth left hers and started to travel down her neck, her décolletage, her abdomen. Finally it arrived where his fingers had been teasing soft, slow circles against her skin. He nipped playfully at her thigh before moving his head a mere couple of inches to nuzzle at the lace of her panties.

Laura arched her back involuntarily, almost coming at the mere thought of him worshipping her with his mouth.

His tongue lapped her through the flimsy material. One long, luxurious stroke left her moaning for more. The cotton gusset of her panties were saturated with anticipation.

Bill sat back and pressed her quivering legs together. Hooking his fingers under the hem, he dragged her panties down over her knees and flicked them off her ankles.

Then his hands returned to her knees. Slowly, agonizingly so, he eased them apart. He pushed her breasts up so that they spilled out of the cups of her bra and into his large, warm palms. Laura closed her eyes, trying to block out the intense hunger in his gaze as he categorized every part of her, as if for future reference.

She choked out his name as he bent down to drag his tongue along the same path as before, now free of obstacles, exposed to his eager touch. She cried out as his tongue swirled gently around her clitoris.

She couldn't speak again for what felt like hours. Instead, she let out an occasional whimper as he licked and suckled her in just the right places. Her grasping hands rumpled the neat bedsheets as pleasure, hot like tongues of flame, began to wash across her body.

She lifted her pelvis higher off the mattress; he ground his mouth down against her. Their impossibly perfect friction was heating her from the inside out.

Letting go of the bedding, she plunged her fingers into his grayer hair, satisfying herself that it had remained soft. She was burning, and his rough tongue was the only thing that could extinguish the fire within her.

She stopped thinking. She stopped moving. Her entire body trembled, starting at her toes and head and joining in the middle, where his mouth was pressed against her clit. She gasped, colors blurring behind the lids of her eyes.

"My love," he whispered against her inner thigh.

She didn't answer; couldn't answer. Coherency had escaped her completely.

She was bereft for only a moment, when she realized his head was still bent and he was now going to concentrate on another part of her body, one equally as sensitive. His hand rested possessively over her pubic mound as he suckled both her breasts in turn.

"Bill," she let out an exhausted moan, even though he had been the one doing all the work. "You must—"

"Shh. Let me show you how good it can be. I won't be selfish this time."

Her head was spinning out of control, but she vaguely registered his words. He thought she wasn't happy with their first time? She certainly wasn't happy about _why_ they'd slept together, but the act itself had been the best she'd had in years. Not as good as this, she admitted, but he could never be as distressed as he was that afternoon.

She pulled gently at him, forcing him to look up at her. "It was good," she panted. "Last time."

He frowned. "You never came to the funeral. You never tried to contact me afterwards."

"I was there," she finally settled on telling him. "At the funeral."

A shiver swept across his body.

"And later?"

How could she explain? She barely understood herself why she'd avoided having Bill in her life on a more permanent basis. All she knew was that he loved her too much.

She shook her head slowly. "There was the election. And… I don't know, there never seems to be the right time for us." She cupped his cheek and she felt tears welling in her eyes. "Just know that it had nothing to do with your performance that day. I thought you weren't impressed with me. That maybe the thought of having sex with me was better than the reality. You didn't want me to stay. Offered me the spare room."

"I'd used your body to appease my grief. I couldn't ask you to do that again."

"Yes, you could have." She gave him a small shy smile. "You can use it anyway you like," she offered huskily.

He growled and lifted her up off the mattress so he could unclasp her bra. She pushed his t-shirt up and over his head at the same time, running her nails along his newly sculpted chest.

He stood up to remove his final piece of clothing, allowing her a moment to inspect his spectacular body fully naked.

"Bill, honey, you're not looking after yourself," she scolded gently.

"You think I'm letting myself go?" he asked with more than a whisper of mirth, running one hand down his flat stomach.

"No. That's the whole point. You've been tense and anxious. Trying to ease your pain by pumping iron. It's not natural, and it doesn't suit you."

He laughed as he climbed on top of her. "You'd rather have me fat?"

"Yes. Fat and relaxed. And happy," she added, her voice breaking when she acknowledged that his happiness was so important to her.

He lowered himself, and their faces met. "I'm happy now." He chuckled. "Although I have to admit to being tense and anxious still."

She reached out and stroked his erection. "Don't be," she whispered, pushing her hips up to meet his.

0.0.0

Laura woke several hours later. Even though it had been early afternoon, she had slept soundly, exhausted from their satisfying romp in his quarters.

She was alone in his bed, but a quick scan of the room found Bill doing some paperwork at his desk.

"Hi." She spoke so that he would know she was awake.

A huge grin spread across his face at her greeting.

"Hey," he said, returning to the bunk, one hand brushing softly over her bare shoulder. He simply needed to touch her, she thought, whether there was a reason for it or not.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

Laura giggled, stretching like a contented cat in the sun. "Beautiful," she answered honestly.

He chuckled and pecked her cheek. "Good."

"You're so smug," she accused with a smile.

He laughed again and squeezed her knee. "You want anything to eat? I can order something from the galley."

"No. That's okay. Bill, we need to talk."

His smile fled. "Oh, great. The one line every man wants to hear, especially after the best sex of his entire life."

She patted his hand reassuringly. "No. I just mean, what are we going to do now?"

"Now? You're ready to go again, my love?" He wiggled his eyebrow suggestively, earning him a slap on his chest.

"No. I mean, what happens now? You're retiring?"

He sighed. "I have another two months on board the ship, then six months on base until the _Eisenhower_ is finally ready to be left in dry dock," he rattled off. "Today was just about the pomp, the mutual backslapping. Politicians getting their photos taken for the papers. The next eight months will be the real nuts and bolts of the decommissioning."

"Oh." Laura was disappointed. She was, as usual, unsure of the part she wanted Bill to play in her life, but she knew he had to be in it, one way or another.

They both sighed. He snuggled down into the bunk beside her, pulling her over to lie across him.

"I love you, Laura," he avowed.

"Bill, I can't—"

"I know, honey," he said. "I understand."

He always seemed to understand her. Even when she barely understood herself.

She couldn't say the words; not yet. But she owed him an explanation as to why.

"I know you understand, Bill. But that doesn't mean it's not wrong of me to deny you some kind of declaration in return. I want to share my life with you. I'm just not sure if I can. I've spent so long denying love, denying you." She bowed her head. "I need you to be patient with me."

He kissed her forehead. "Always."

She felt tears stinging her eyes.

"After officially retiring," he said, "I had planned on seeking out Lee. Trying to reconcile with him."

Laura pulled him closer. "Yes, you should." Then she surprised herself by offering: "Maybe you can come visit me afterwards."

"July the Fourth?" he suggested. "Seems to be our special holiday, after all."

"I'd like that."

"How about you come down to me, though. To our house."

"Our house?" her voice caught.

"Our house," he repeated.

They lay in each other's arms for a long while after that, touching each other, kissing occasionally. Then Laura remembered a question he'd never answered.

"What was the thing? The one thing?" she asked. "The one thing that no one would know but me?"

"That I love you, and want to marry you," he said.

His words made her eyes shine with tears again. "No, Bill, I meant when we first spoke on the phone, before the girls died."

"I knew what you meant." He proved his point by taking her foot and rubbing it gently. "The one thing that no one knew was that I loved you, and wanted to marry you."

"But you'd only just met me!" she exclaimed. "How could you possibly know that?"

"I knew it as soon as you came and stole my newspaper."

"Your newspaper? But you told me you never got it delivered on Sundays."

He chuckled. "I lied. I'd sacrifice my newspaper for the most beautiful woman I'd ever met." His voice lost its teasing tone and became serious. "You were simply stunning when I saw you at Adar's party. I was too overwhelmed to even approach you." He leaned down and gave her a sweet kiss. "And, just in case you're uncertain," he added when they parted, "I still love you and want to marry you."


	9. Chapter 9

**July, 2007**

Laura glanced up at the clock. The hour hand audibly clicked over to midnight. The sound had kept her awake nearly every night since she arrived, and it grated against her nerves again now. It was official. It was July the Fourth. The day she was supposed to meet Bill.

Bill had spent the last three months with his eldest son. Lee had resigned his commission in the Navy, and had agreed to have Bill come and stay with him. Bill had called her from Lee's apartment in New York to tell her he'd arrived, but she hadn't heard from him since. Not that she had expected to. That was the entire point: for Lee and Bill to spend some quality time together without any outside distractions. Laura hoped they had sorted things out.

But Bill would have returned home by now, and would be preparing for Laura's arrival. He might have fussed over groceries and wine. He had probably cleaned his side of the duplex from top to bottom. She wondered if he had added any little touches especially for her: flowers, new linens, more books?...

Sighing, Laura turned away from the ticking clock. Her gaze settled on the telephone, which sat silently on the little table beside the bed. How was she going to explain to him that she wasn't going to keep the appointment they'd set up nearly twelve months ago?

Eventually she dozed off, still contemplating the possible ways she could prevent him from rushing immediately to Washington to see her.

It was almost nine o'clock in the morning. Laura picked up the phone. She knew she shouldn't put off making the call any longer. It was better to get it over with as quickly as possible.

He answered on the second ring.

"Bill?"

"Laura? Is everything okay? Where are you?" She heard the worry in his voice.

"I'm still in town."

"You're going to be late? That's okay. Just tell me when to expect you, so I'm not worried that you've had a car accident, or anything."

Laura gripped the phone tightly. She hated him for being so understanding. It made her feel even worse about lying. Actually, she realized, she couldn't lie to him. She would just have to avoid giving an explanation, even though he certainly deserved one.

"I don't think I'll get down today at all."

He was silent.

"Or tomorrow," she added while she still had enough courage.

She closed her eyes, trying not to imagine his expression at this very moment. She had to remember this would be for the best.

"I'm not coming, Bill. I'm sorry."

She couldn't stand the thought of the pain she must be causing him. But, she thought, once she wasn't on the other end of the line any more, perhaps his heartache would be lessened. So she hung up.

There was a tap at the door, and a woman entered. Laura sat up straighter and held in the tears that she'd been about to let fall.

"Hello? Ms Roslin?" The woman held out a business card. "I'm Elosha Walker. I'm here to ensure you have suitable support when you go home."

"I'll be okay on my own," Laura murmured.

The woman pursed her lips and spoke in an authoritative tone that belied her small stature. "No, you won't. You may think you will, but you won't. I'm afraid you're going to have a lot more going on than you may realize." She opened up a folder. "This will be your new bible. Here," she pointed to the first page, "are telephone numbers for counselors and support groups. You'll automatically receive one visit from a hospital counselor. Your appointment is scheduled for two weeks from today."

Laura paled, feeling overwhelmed as the woman continued to rattle off everything else the secret folder contained: tips about nutrition and exercise, returning to the workplace, even where to buy a wig.

Elosha went on, addressing her like they were old friends. "From your records, Laura, I see that you chose not to have a reconstruction when you had your mastectomy. So, I'm including some information on this for when you're ready. This would be a good topic to discuss with your counselor. And do you have a partner? You should think about including them in these discussions."

_Did she have a partner?_ She'd been filling out forms containing her personal details for 46 years. She'd always ticked the 'single' box without a second thought. It had never bothered her before.

"There's also some practical information in here about sex and intimacy after cancer. Frequently asked questions, that kind of thing. There's a section for your partner to read. Or, if you're single, some dating advice."

Laura looked away from Elosha's sincere and sympathetic face.

_Did she have a partner?_ The words repeated themselves in her mind, over and over again. She was single. She was alone. She longed to lean on Bill. But did she have the right to use him in that way?

No. She would do this on her own.

Elosha got up, poured a glass of water, and offered it to her. "Take your time," she said. "This is a lot to take in all at once."

_Did she have a partner?_ She and Bill had called each other regularly during his final months as captain of the _Eisenhower_. They'd talked for hours on some of those calls.

They'd discussed their likes and dislikes. They'd shared their opinions on movies and television and sports. And, of course, books.

They'd discussed their frustrations with their respective careers. When it came right down to it, however, they both loved what they did for a living. It had been nice to let off some steam, though.

They'd talked about their parents and their childhoods and their siblings.

There were certain aspects of their lives that had never come up, though. She hadn't touched on her relationship with Sean, or Richard, or any of her past lovers. She would never want to compare what she had with Bill with what she had with another man. It wasn't relevant anyway. They had never brought up the subject of his ex-wife, either. Laura knew neither of them was avoiding the truth; it just hadn't come up in conversation. But if it did, she felt certain that they would be honest, and tell the other everything they wanted to know.

Some days, those phone calls had been the most important thing in her life. She had looked forward to them. She had relied on them.

They'd laughed and argued and occasionally talked dirty.

They had even, once or twice, said nothing at all. It had been enough just to know that he was at the other end of the line.

Neither of them talked about getting together earlier. They stuck with their July the Fourth commitment. They were both enjoying taking the time to get to know each other. Considering how long ago they'd met, it seemed ridiculous. But it had worked for them.

And, after Bill had left for Lee's, she'd been desperately counting down the days until she got to speak to him again.

A few weeks ago, everything changed. Her days became a blur of tests and scans, doctors and specialists, biopsies and operations. She'd been coping by herself. That's what she had always done.

"That doesn't mean I can't change," Laura suddenly declared.

"Sorry?" Elosha asked, confused.

"Would you pass me the telephone, please?"

The older woman looked surprised, but complied.

Laura dialed the number she'd memorized to keep herself from thinking that morning. She paused for a moment after her call was connected.

Then, she forced herself to speak in case he hung up.

"Bill," she whispered, "I'm at the hospital."

0.0.0.

Laura tensed every time the door to her ward opened. She was visited by doctors and nurses and domestics delivering meals. She struggled to be polite to them, and continued to be on the lookout for the man who had vowed to be by her side as soon as he could.

Eventually, though, she'd drifted off to sleep.

Laura glanced around when she awakened, momentarily befuddled. Her glasses were lying on the tray table instead of askew across her face, the way they usually were after she'd fallen asleep while reading. Her book wasn't balanced precariously wherever it had landed, as was the norm. A man – a man who displayed so much quiet strength – sat in a visitor's chair beside the bed, reading. It was the book he had given her all those years ago; the one Cheryl had told him she loved.

Someone of his age and masculinity might look uncomfortable reading _Little Women_, but Bill was as much in his element reading a book of feminine literature as he was when he boxed. There was no way she could ever pigeonhole him. He defied all her attempts to put him in a box and keep him safely inside.

"Hi," she mumbled.

He instantly sat up straighter. For a long time he said nothing, but his eyes told Laura everything she needed to know.

_Did she have a partner?_ Yes. Without a doubt, the answer was yes. She wasn't alone. She didn't have to do this on her own.

She gasped for breath at the emotions his loving gaze evoked, and tried to control her tears once more.

He moved closer, setting the book down carefully on the edge of her bed, and took her hand in his. Turning it over, he kissed her palm.

"My stubborn Jo," he said.

"No," she objected in a shaky voice. "I was always Meg. The eldest and most sensible. Cheryl was Jo; the exuberant one with a million ideas. Cheryl stood up to everyone, just like Jo. But like Meg, I always remained diplomatic, trying to please everyone. Sandra was Amy, the spoiled, indulged child; always getting into trouble. But so lovely, we would forgive her for anything and everything."

"I was so angry with you that day. The day I gave you this," he gestured toward the book.

"I know." She turned her hand over and squeezed his. One day she hoped he would understand that Sean meant nothing to her.

"But you're so lovely, I'd forgive you for anything and everything."

Laura whimpered and let the tears fall freely from her eyes.

"We used to say how lucky we were. That there were only three of us. No sad Beth, we'd say." She snorted bitterly. "How wrong can people be? We all had a piece of Beth in us, after all."

"No," he said in a determined voice. "I'm here. And you're not going anywhere."

He leaned over and gently pulled her into his lap. She buried her head against his chest. Inhaling deeply, she let his familiar scent overpower the antiseptic one she had become accustomed to in the last few weeks.

"You've put on weight," she said, holding onto his solid body.

"You're not going to complain, are you? You said you wanted the pudgy old man version?"

She pushed herself further into his arms, pressing hard against him; imagining that some of his strength could flow into her.

"No, not complaining. I'm looking forward to exploring all the differences once we're home. I'm not sure certain parts of you could get any bigger, but I could check, just to make sure."

He chuckled, and she leaned back to offer him a saucy smile. Her smile then turned to a giggle, and finally into a full laugh.

"Oh, Bill!" she cried. "I'm flirting. You have no idea how good that feels."

He dropped a kiss onto her laughing mouth.

"Love you," he murmured against her lips.

"I love you too, Bill." She breathed the words into his mouth as he kissed her sweetly. When they came up for air, she held his gaze and repeated the sentiment. "I love you."


	10. Chapter 10

**Quick shout out for my 'guest'. Thank you for all your reviews. Being a guest means I can't reply! This is the final chapter. Enjoy. I hope.**

**July, 2010**

Laura fingered the sheer satin material of her blue camisole as she tucked it into her skirt. The woman who had delivered it from the bridal shop had made such a fuss over her choice.

_"I think the green will suit your coloring much better."_

Laura had been adamant, insisting on the blue.

_"It matches my husband's eyes."_

The rest of the outfit had been chosen without any debate: a cream skirt with a strategically placed hem to hide the way her left leg twisted, and a matching jacket.

Once fully dressed, Laura donned her glasses and leaned toward the mirror to apply her lipstick. Then, carefully, she removed the dark red wig off its stand, bent her head forward and expertly maneuvered it into place. Sitting back up, she swished the hair back, checking in the mirror to make sure she had it on straight.

Laura stared at her reflection, trying to see what Bill would see. She could find little resemblance to the woman he'd met nine years ago. She knew, though, that he'd still look at her as if she were the most beautiful woman in the room.

She blinked back the tears that gathered behind her eyes, mindful of the mascara she had recently applied.

She remembered their first wedding. She'd still been weak from her mastectomy. They'd married in a simple ceremony at the courthouse as soon as they could organize the necessary paperwork.

That didn't stop her from quietly panicking the night before.

"I don't want you to marry me out of pity," she'd said.

"Fine, I won't," he'd answered.

She'd decided to accept that. She didn't need a piece of paper to prove they were a couple, she'd thought.

Then he'd cupped her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his own.

"How about I marry you for love?"

She had swooned in his arms. And had ever since.

Their marriage had been perfect. They had never spent a night apart from each other in three years.

They fought sometimes, like all couples, but they never went to bed angry. One of them would always yield. She flushed, thinking about the various ways they'd reconciled.

They'd made their home on his side of the duplex, living a relatively quiet life after she resigned from her position in the government.

They took long walks along the beach. They pottered around book stores, adding to their collection. They redecorated the bedroom and refurbished the kitchen, but she never touched the living room, where they spent long hours on the couch curled up with a book, and each other.

Quite often, Bill would indulge her by reading aloud; one hand holding onto the book, the other giving her the longed-for foot rubs. She developed a penchant for mysteries. The ones that featured intricate character-driven plots soon became her favorites. She enjoyed a disheveled detective who was down on his luck, and a feisty heroine with a suspicious past. Especially when Bill made the words on the page come to life with his vivid narration.

During the warmer months, they would spread out a blanket in their backyard and stare up at the stars together. Bill would point out the constellations, while she cuddled against his side.

They talked. They spoke deep into the night sometimes; staying awake just so they could hear each other's voices.

Other times, they never said anything. In fact, they could go entire days without a word passing between them. Their body language during these times was acute. Bill would tell her he loved her by gently tucking her hair behind her ear, or stroking his finger along her cheek.

She never regretted a single day.

When, last Christmas, he'd proposed, she'd smiled and kissed him.

"We are married, honey."

"I know. I want to do it again. On the Fourth of July. Our special day."

She hadn't questioned why he'd wanted to do it again. She knew. She was dying.

That was another way they'd passed the time during the three years of their marriage: in and out of hospitals.

She'd had radiation treatments and chemotherapy. She'd tried alternative medicines and prayer. All to no avail.

"Knock, knock." A voice came from the door. "You're almost fifteen minutes late, Laura, so I hope you're nearly ready. I've seen the groom's face and, considering the circumstances, it's quite amusing. You'd think he was worried his bride was going to jilt him at the altar."

"No chance," Laura wheezed. "Let's go."

Wally, who was 'giving her away' today, assisted her into the wheelchair.

"Sure you want to marry this guy, Laura?" he joked as he rolled her toward the small hospital chapel. "It's not too late to back out."

She snorted.

Wally wheeled her up the ramp, and paused in the doorway. She looked through at the few guests in attendance as the wedding march began. Lee and Kara stood behind the groom. On her side stood Doctor Cottle and a nurse, Layne, both of whom she had become quite close to over the course of her treatments.

The best man, Saul Tigh, stood beside the groom, his shoulders back and his head held high.

Then, Bill turned. She gasped at the dashing figure he cut in his black morning suit. It molded to his body, accentuating his still-muscular frame. Her sickness had aged him; he was grayer now, the lines on his face more pronounced. He always wore his glasses now. But to her, he was still the most handsome man in the room.

His eyes caught hers, and she became even more breathless from the love she could see shining in them.

Laura reached up and stilled Wally.

"You okay?" he asked worriedly.

She saved her breath and merely nodded before reaching out and pulling her wheelchair's brake.

With an effort, Laura managed to pull herself up from the chair. She began to shuffle slowly down the aisle, toward her groom.

She had barely taken two steps when Bill caught her arm. She relaxed immediately.

"You're late," he chided gently.

Laura smiled. "Takes me a bit longer these days," she said. Once she had regained her breath, she added, "You haven't started without me?"

"Wouldn't dream of it, Mrs. Adama."

She leaned against him heavily as they walked up the aisle together, towards the waiting celebrant.

0.0.0

Laura never let go of Bill's hand. Their fingers remained linked for the rest of the night, which was cut short when Doctor Cottle came and murmured in his ear.

Bill immediately started making their farewells.

"What'd he say?" she demanded.

"That it was time for Cinderella to leave the ball, and return to her room."

Laura sighed as he started to lead her out of the reception room and back to the ward. "Not much of a wedding night, stuck in ward 75."

"We'll have a honeymoon as soon as you're released."

Laura just hummed in reply. She knew they weren't ever going on a honeymoon.

"How about we go outside for a while? Watch the fireworks from the hospital's lawn," Bill suggested.

"You think Cottle will let us?"

"He'll never know. He and Saul are probably making their way to the nearest bar right now. Besides, surely he'll give us a break on our wedding day. Wait here a minute."

She let go of his hand regretfully, leaning against the wall for support. He returned a few moments later with a blanket he'd lifted from somewhere in the ward.

They joined hands again, and started toward the hospital exit. Bill carefully matched his pace to suit hers. They were almost outside when Laura stumbled. Bill quickly caught her before she fell, holding her upright. She collapsed into his arms.

"Sorry, honey. I think the drugs Cottle gave me are starting to wear off."

Bill arms came around her and he scooped her up easily.

"Bill, you can't-" she spluttered against his chest.

"It's tradition to carry your wife across the threshold on your wedding night."

"I don't think they mean a hospital threshold."

"Minor detail."

Laura smiled, and let him carry her. Her body's gentle rocking as they walked calmed her to such an extent that she drifted off to sleep for a moment.

When she awakened, he was slowly lowering her to the ground, onto the blanket. He surprised her by producing another blanket, which he draped around her shoulders before he settled in beside her and drew her close to his side.

It was becoming difficult for her to breathe. Her ribs ached when she tried to talk. She was content just to sit with him, their hands still linked, and enjoy his quiet company for a little while longer.

Laura studied Bill's profile as he stared intently up into the sky.

It was a beautiful, clear night, and the stars sparkled down upon them until the fireworks fought for domination, peppering them with a kaleidoscope of colors.

She fought tooth and nail to speak. "You won the war."

He turned to look directly into her eyes, as was his habit. "Whaddya mean?"

"The war for my independence. I finally surrendered."

He squeezed her hand. "You regret that?"

"No."

He leaned down and kissed the hand he was holding. Laura felt a droplet of water splash upon her arm. She glanced back up into the sky, but it was still clear. She realized the droplet had been a tear from Bill's eyes.

Laura reached out to soothe him, letting her fingers wind into his glorious thick hair one last time. She smiled when the caress elicited a contented rumble from him.

She shifted slightly to lean back against him, her spine resting on his chest. Looking up at the fireworks and the stars one last time, she drifted away peacefully, the smile still on her face.

The End


End file.
